


the missed, and the unmissed.

by DrunkenGreed



Category: Gangsta. (Manga)
Genre: A lot of flashbacks kind of, Alleyway, Dark Past, Enjoy my ugliness of a work, F/M, Good one- God damn DrunkenGreed!, Guns, It'll make more sense bro, Lies, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Past Drug Use, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Relationship(s), Past Torture, Reader is.. MAD???, Search what it means, Tears, Title is greek, WHy are you so idiotic?!, Worick is sad??, thanks for reading
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-25
Updated: 2015-08-25
Packaged: 2018-04-17 03:33:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4650705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrunkenGreed/pseuds/DrunkenGreed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arrogant blanched eyes with a tinge of dejection gaze at the man, a sense of apathy saturating within both her eyes and voice. Holding back the temptation to shoot at the standing figure, a growl pursed through her lips roughly, biting back the string of curses that threw themselves at her thoughts.</p><p>A mere grin tilts at his dehydrated estuary, tinctured with irresolution.</p><p>It annoyed her. It annoyed her deeply, that he could still smile after their encounter- after what he did to her. "What do you want?"</p><p>It wasn't an exact answer but it was there, silencing her for a sheer moment. "I missed you."</p>
            </blockquote>





	the missed, and the unmissed.

/ I do not own Gangsta or the character, Worick, that is in this fan-fiction. This is simply for the use of entertainment. Thank you. Anyhow, hello dearies, how have you been? I haven't posted in a decent amount of time and I recently got back to reading Gangsta and fell in love with the characters all over again. So here's a fan-fiction I wrote out of boredom! The plot will be bent a bit from the original story line, but only for this one fan-fiction. There's going to be a lot of flashbacks, kind of. And yeah, enjoy! /

Arrogant blanched eyes with a tinge of dejection gaze at the man, a sense of apathy saturating within both her eyes and voice. Holding back the temptation to shoot at the standing figure, a growl pursed through her lips roughly, biting back the string of curses that threw themselves at her thoughts.

A mere grin tilts at his dehydrated estuary, tinctured with irresolution.

It annoyed her. It annoyed her deeply, that he could still smile after their encounter- after what he did to her. "What do you want?"

It wasn't an exact answer but it was there, silencing her for a sheer moment. "I missed you."

For a single second, she had believed him. She had believed that he, someone who had played with so many, really missed her. Disbelief swept over diversified emotions, then anger, and finally the hatred for that same man who left her to die. Revulsion masked her timbre, brows narrowing with the response that spat out raucously. "Isn't that what you say to every women, Wallace?"

Saffron draped down his masculine features, optics of cerulean filling in with despondency at those words and the tonality of her voice. "God, no, (Your name). I mean it. I missed you, (Your name)." His voice was deep, abysmal even, cornering the alleyway in only his words.

Incredulous; the only thing painting her irises that eyed the man, her nose scrunching up, a soft laugh of dubiety slithering through her labium. "You, miss me? Stop kidding with me, Wallace. You've never truly cared for someone as much as to say those words with true intention. You don't have to force yourself to fake love."

God damn, those cobalt eyes. The same eyes paired along with the same man that used to stand by her side, that used to comfort her, that used to embrace her when society was tearing her apart little by little and day by day. Who would have known that he left and sold service to other women. Though, who would have known they'd seen each other after so long, practically a 'good' fourteen years.

His smile faltered, brushing slender fingers through his mop of chrome before tracing it along the eye patch on the individual ocular. "Are you mad at me? For leaving you, fourteen years ago?"

Silence.

Taking that as an answer, Worick had continued, a small glimpse of guilt wrapping each phrase. "Is... He still, hurting you?"

A meager flicker of dread illustrated her hues for a transitory trice, promptly blinking back to the same austere countenance that displayed once the muscular silhouette had arose. "No. I shot him to death with the same exact gun that I'm holding right now. I'd be damned if he was alive, don't ya think? That weak, frail girl I was back then..." There was a terse minute of which she allowed a fluctuant guffaw to crawl amidst her lineaments. "I was pathetic."

Nevertheless, it didn't stop her from witnessing the past where she met Worick, where he had consoled her, and embraced her.

\- - -

"I'm Wallace Arcangelo, who are you?" Said the preteen male, blank eyes of cobalt staring toward the bent girl that held a loaf of bread in the depths of her bony fingers. He didn't seem to be mad about the fact she stole food from his mansion, but rather more directed on the girl. She didn't seem to be no more than his own age with bruises and hickey marks lining up her physique that seemed far too emaciated.

There was a stutter in her voice, quivering words breathing out as if she hadn't talked to anyone for months; years even. "I.. I'm (Your full name)..."

. Time skip further down her past .

A hand clenched in a fist wiped the blood seeping down her nose, combined with the tears that were spilling endlessly. Her father had done it again; her father had beat and raped her. It was normal though. The sad part was that it was normal. Why was something so cruel, normal? Why was this hell she experienced titled as a normal event nowadays? It broke her at such a young age. However, there was him, standing there, dressed in the finest of clothing- yet he comforted her through all the times, despite their social standings, despite the vast differences.

"What did he do this time..?" Enmity rose in his presence with the thought of her father, in spite of his hate, his form remained calm.

".. He didn't do much. Don't worry about it, Wallace." Albeit her anemic reassurance that were evidently lies, the secretion of her tears failed to analogue her incentive speaking. "Really.. He didn't do much. Just a few hits and-"

"Dammit (Your name), why do you put up with this? I already told you- come with me. Stay with me. You don't have to be hurt anymore. You can be the normal girl that you are. So please, (Your name)-" The sixteen year old Worick was cut off by that same smile; the smile that purloined his heart.

"I'd be weak if I were to run away, wouldn't I, Wallace?"

. More time skip down her past! I promise, this is the final one .

They were tangled in one another, skin against skin as she sobbed against his wiry chest, bawling the residual tears she had stored all this time.

Worick knew it already. (Your name) was broken long ago when her father demoralized her comprehensively before any other man could. Notwithstanding this certitude, he continued to assure her even with all the disagreement from the town folks.

'You shouldn't get near her, sir. Her father's a drunkard. I've heard that he's raped her many times.'

'She's being abused. With her father like that, there's no way she'll survive to her twenties.'

'I heard she's been taking drugs,' that was true- she was. He had seen her, in the darkness of the alleyway, downing multiple pills. Bags cornered her (e/c) orbs, dehydration dancing on her lips while a quivering silhouette merely scruntinize at the appalled teenager. There were more discoloration on her skin, mostly exposed as she wore simple shorts and a loose tank top. Predominantly, her physique was blue, purple, brown- all sorts of color from the hands that laid on the teenager. "W.. Orick?" It nearly broke him to see her like this, cowered in the shadows, swallowing opiates that drove her to hallucinations and endless crying. Jesus Christ, he wanted to stop her. He did. Believe me when I say he tried.

They kept saying they were worried about her, but not a damn one seemed to ever take action of helping her.

They were laid against a couch, Worick on the bottom and (Your name) on top. His arms snaked around her waist while her phalanges set against his fibrous chest. His fingers softly, oh so softly, ran through the strands of her (h/c) hair, gently to show her that she was going to be okay. Silence dabbed the air. There wasn't anything to say. The only thing Worick could do at this point was to embrace her no matter how long it'd be because, he'd do anything for her.

\- - -

/ I'm real rusty right now. I'll probably continue with this! If you do like it, do leave feedback and if possible, how this story should turn out. ;u; The reader is always right! Sometimes.. Few times.. I mean, always! /


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